


Without A Stitch

by InsanelyYours96



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dubious Consent, Intolerant Harry, M/M, Masterbation, Possessive Voldemort, Snippets, Summoning, Wandless Magic, handjob
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-25
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-03-19 13:16:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3611430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsanelyYours96/pseuds/InsanelyYours96
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Voldemort uses a ritual to summon his horcruxes to him after realizing that their safety has been compromised, only for one Harry Potter, stark naked and desperately aroused, to drop into his lap.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Producant mea et anima artificium, iterum redire ad unum,” chanted Voldemort, finishing his meticulous carving with the last verses end.

There was no delay or spectacle about it: one moment the throne room was housing a single occupant and intricate runic design. The next four trinkets, a dozing snake, and a very naked fifteen-year-old boy rested on the frigid stone floor.

‘A very naked Boy-Who-Lived,’ Voldemort revised, ‘in a very compromising position.’

“Please,” whimpered Harry Potter, chest heaving, grinding desperately, _deliriously_ back onto what appeared to be a dildo, of all things. “Merlin, _God_ please.”

‘Well,’ thought Voldemort, watching the boy’s hips buck, his clenching hole reluctantly releasing the flesh toned toy, only to eagerly suck it back in like it was made to, ‘Who am I to refute such lovely pleads?’

The boy stilled, face flushed, mouth open and panting, and slowly, apprehensively, peeled his lids open, revealing lust blown eyes, black with only the thinnest swell of green.

A sudden awareness of his displacement in space had Harry twisting around, whimpering as the movement caused the toy to shift in him, brushing against his prostate and sending sparks of heat down to his toes.

His gaze was drawn immediately to heated red orbs, their owner crouched before him regally. Thin, translucent skin, a noseless face, and a bald, veined head. The pounding in his head was triggered solely by his overwhelming state of arousal; Harry’s scar remained blissfully silent, even as a frigid hand clasped his straining cock.

“V-Voldemort?” he gasped, disoriented as his back arched, his body pushing into the Dark Lord’s grasp even as his mind raced to process the situation. The Lord in question swung a leg over Harry’s hip, straddling his thighs, so very in-control with the wrecked Boy Who Lived squirming beneath him.

“What’re you -?” but it was abundantly clear what Voldemort was doing as his hand rose up and down, slowly jerking Harry towards completion. “Don’t, I--you--mmn, s-stop, Gods, _ple-ease_!”

Legs tightened painfully, and as amethyst magic pressed Harry ruthlessly into submission the pleasure abruptly intensified - Potter’s eyes glazed, hips snapping towards Voldemort.

“‘s good,” he gasped, torn between arching into the palm or the dildo halfway up his arse. “Why does it… a-ah! Fuck, stop it, Riddle, I’m going to bloody-!”

“What will you do, Harry?” Voldemort purred, hot breath flooding his ear. He slowly pulled back enough to see the flushed, twisted face and then, mockingly, “Are you close?”

Desperate green eyes snapped open, burning furiously into his own. “I’ll fucking skin you, you snake-bastard, I said _stop_!”

Magic lashed with Harry’s tumultuous emotions, viciously ejecting the Dark Lord across the hall, pressing until he hit the far wall with a sharp _crack_.

Surprised by his magics ready response but satisfied, Harry pressed himself up, quickly willing a robe into being to conceal himself. Charcoal fabric wove into existence, falling to cover Harry, who whined lowly, biting his lip as he slowly extracted the dildo from his clenching entrance and banished it with a wave of his hand.

“Impressive,” Voldemort hissed, a scant meter away, and Harry snarled, quickly pulling the robe secure when the Lord’s eyes lingered on his still straining arousal. He noted, with a touch of satisfaction, the blood streaked down bone white skin from a gash at Voldemort’s temple. That was hardly punishment enough for _molesting him_ , but taking into account Voldemort’s temper, he was lucky not to be writhing under a cruciatus after throwing him across his own manor hall.

“What do you want?” Harry demanded, receiving a salacious smirk as hellfire eyes suggestively perusing the length of his covered body. His cock twitched, but the boy himself merely scowled, shifting uncomfortably. “Why am I _here_?”

“You are here, Harry Potter, because you belong to me.” Voldemort stated, with such conviction that Harry felt it to his bones.

“I belong to no one,” he rebuked, expertly concealing his desperation and confusion. There was no need for Voldemort to relish this more than he clearly already was, and after being stripped bare of any and all dignity, Harry’s pride would allow little else. “Least of all you.”

Harry considered asking _how_ he had been transported, but then that mattered little now- he was here, and Harry had little delusion that he could take an armed Voldemort on, even with his admittedly impressive wandless repertoire. Still, it was strange not to have felt any signifier of magical transport... It was as though he had teleported in the blink of an eye, the stone cold floor replacing his thin cot and vaguely cooler temperature the only warning that he was writhing before the Dark Lord.

Heedless of the defiance Voldemort continued his assessment, now with a cruel curl playing about his lips. Dark, sensuous strands of magic flowed over Harry’s skin like the finest of silks and green eyes clamped shut, scar singing even as a chill shot up his spine and teeth dug into bitten red lips to withhold yet another embarrassing slip. Harry’s cock ached and throbbed, his entrance clenching on thin air. Most alarmingly, perhaps, was the way his own magic, and not just that of the scar, rose against Voldemort’s, but not… not _combatively_.

Teasingly, flirtatiously, it _mingled_ , preening under the attention. So distracted by this reaction Harry almost fell deaf to Voldemort’s next words, and so they were all the more jarring upon pressing from ears to his vacant brain moments later.

“Ah, but how can you not be when you contain my soul?” 


	2. Chapter 2

Harry didn’t waver against the words, didn’t reveal his uncertainty and ignorance, his always-there trepidation that he and Voldemort were just like their wands, with different shells but identical cores. That Harry was rotting and black and ruined inside, had been even before the Dursley’s gave him the right to be, still was even as he masqueraded as a good boy.

Because Voldemort wasn’t allowed to _do this_. He didn’t get to summon him to whatever remote locale he was currently using as an evil lair, didn’t get to shake Harry’s confidence and play off his insecurities this easily, didn’t get to do anything to Harry if Harry wouldn’t let him.

And that was just it: Harry wouldn’t. Even trembling with the remembrance of arousal, even veiled only by a thin black cloak, even wandless and vulnerable before the lauded Dark Lord, Harry still held power. He had mental fortitude, enough to have survived fifteen years of mental, verbal, and physical abuse by most of the grown-ups in his life. He had the _Them_ versus _Him_ mentality with _Him_ never breaking, never splintering, even once along the way.

(And, well, if he had to disregard the tortured cries of Sirius and Cedric that still plagued his nights, at least it gave him the strength for this confrontation, for his confidence and will to beat _Them_ , to _live_.)

“By that logic, how can you be sure that you are not mine?”

The words spilled from his lips without conscious approval, his mind still spinning and grappling and defying and adapting (and some small, small part _accepting_ ).

Voldemort’s brow bone arched, no hair there to creep up, and Harry wondered if he knew how ridiculous that was, _he_ was.

“Yours,” the Dark Lord hissed, flatly. Eyes just as predatory, but no longer amused.

“If having your soul qualifies as a claim of ownership, then I own a portion of your soul, and therefore own you - correct me if I’m not following your reasoning.”

Because even if Harry didn’t know what this meant, “containing” Voldemort’s soul, he knew he had one of his own, no matter how black and rotting it may be. He was his own person, he was Harry Potter, and there was a reason the Sorting Hat’s first choice was Slytherin. Harry had been twisting situations to his advantage since before he could properly form sentences, but here, against a like mind, he needed the boldness of a lion and slickness of a serpent to navigate. Here he was both Slytherin and Gryffindor, but still just Harry Potter.

(Harry Potter, trying not to think of the implications of containing Tom Riddle’s soul because _how was that even possible what did it mean_ -)

The best part was that Voldemort couldn’t refute the logic, his own logic.

“I see,” Voldemort murmured, something dark creeping into his tone, his eyes. “Is that what you want, then, Harry Potter? To own Lord Voldemort?”

Something about the way “own” fell from the Lord’s lips felt so wrong, so _intimate_. Harry shivered, couldn’t stop it if he wanted to, but didn’t look away, hands clenching.

“This isn’t about what ‘I want’, this is about what ‘Lord Voldemort has decided’. The decision to kidnap and molest a minor, for example. I’d rather you didn’t make it seem as though I had such a bold say in the matter. Or any at all, as the case may be.”

Voldemort’s lips curled up and he took another step forward, magic pressing against his own again. Wanting to tease out another reaction.

“You suspect Lord Voldemort cares for such trivialities as age? You can’t deny that you enjoyed my touch, Harry.”

“A biological response,” Harry returned coldly. “Others could coax the same reaction easily.”

Voldemort’s eyes brightened dangerously. “But they haven’t,” he said, a threat in his tone.

“Without my consent, no. That would be _you_.” Voldemort let out a low, cruel hiss with no real content to it. “And let’s not forget that my ‘enjoyment’ of your touch wasn’t enough to keep me from knocking you across your throne room.”

There was silence for several beats, and Harry fought the urge to shift under the Dark Lords searing gaze. Voldemort’s previously dancing, pushing, _testing_ magic had gone suddenly still. His eyes were dead and cold as they took Harry in, head tilted, face clear.

If not for supposedly housing a piece of Voldemort’s soul, Harry would say this is the moment he was to die. Hell, he still might. Hands tightening into loose fists, jaw clenching, pulse jumping, he prepared himself.

And at long last Voldemort released a rasping chuckle.

“So bold, boy. So… _impudent_.”

Harry smiled duly, eyes sharp as he waited for Voldemort to make his move. To confront him, in one form or another.

He said nothing in response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, you guys convinced me. It isn't much, but... (more coming? Probably Dec. 2016 at this rate, though!)


	3. Chapter 3

"Do you know what a horcrux is, Harry?" Voldemort asked idly, gaze hot and steady on his face, tracking his expression carefully. Harry was good at many things, but keeping his thoughts off his face wasn't usually one of them. Yet Voldemort had caught him at a rather bad time, if he expected such tactics to work: Harry had been practicing all summer. If the Dursley's saw half the thoughts that went through his head Harry would be long removed from their presence, if not dead.

He allowed his brow to raise but remained silent, watching Voldemort curiously. It was as much of an answer as the Dark Lord needed. “No," even if the boy refused to say it.

"Now, now, no need to be rude. I said _do you know what a horcrux is?_ "

Harry released a little gust of air, not quite a sigh but close. This wasn’t the compulsion that made him bow in the graveyard, but the warning of it remained if Harry continued his defiance.

"An object that holds a piece of your soul," Harry said slowly. It was obvious enough, what with Voldemort explicitly having said Harry contained his soul. "Presumably myself, as well as all _that._ "

He waved a careless hand, gesturing to the to the objects lying an equidistant distance from himself, circling Voldemort. Now that he was looking closer he noticed the runes carved into the ground, indecipherable for all that he’d never bothered with the class. Then again, even if he had Harry had the feeling this would be a bit too advanced for a Fifth Year to put together.

“So there is a brain in there somewhere,” Voldemort mocked. “I had wondered.”

Harry grit his teeth. Had the Dark Lord seriously summoned him from behind the Dursley’s supposedly impenetrable blood wards just to mock him? He’d like to think that was foolish, but…

Well, if there was one thing to be said for Voldemort, it was that he was unpredictable. In Little Hangleton’s graveyard he had monologued and then demanded Harry duel him. At the Ministry he coached him on the _Cruciatus_ curse, and then proceeded to temporarily possess him. Today he had stroked him off and claimed ownership of Harry. He dreaded to discover what was next.

Still, he would play along for as long as necessary. Better to humour Voldemort than die, though Harry had no clue how well he could keep the Dark Lord’s attention. Would it be as simple as maintaining the conversation until he found some way to escape?

Doubtful.

His life was rarely simple.

Still, if nothing else, Voldemort hadn’t seemed to expect his presence here today. That meant he likely had no security measures in place to keep Harry trapped, though Harry had no doubt the man could think them up quickly enough.

Harry needed to be quicker, and keep the Dark Lord out of his mind while he was at it.

(And, preferably, away from his wired body.)

Maybe he should go for one of the other ‘horcruxes’?

No, Voldemort had probably already anticipated that as Harry’s most likely course of action. Besides, what would he do with an item that held a piece of Voldemort’s soul?

Suddenly, an image of Tom Riddle’s diary sprang to mind. Had that been a horcrux? It seemed likely. And that meant they could be destroyed, but-

It wasn’t like Harry had a basilisk fang around. And what would be the point of destroying them? Harry didn’t even know their purpose, and he was one!

He certainly was not about to destroy himself.

Merlin, this was all too confusing. Just because Harry knew the word ‘horcruxes’ now did not mean he knew anything else.

Why - _how_ \- had Voldemort summoned all these soul shards to him?

_“You are here, Harry Potter, because you belong to me.”_

Harry shook his head. For now he needed to pay attention. He could research later. If he got a later.

“Are you frightened, Harry Potter?” asked Voldemort. His head was tilted again, the gesture unnerving and oddly childlike. “No need to worry. I treat my belongings very well.”

The wizard drew closer, red eyes staring, but Harry avoided the gaze deftly. He was well aware of Voldemort’s talents in Legilimency - how could he not be, after the last year - and tensed. He took a step back.

“Did we not just go over this?” he said, voice coming out higher than expected. Harry cleared his throat. “I don’t belong to anyone, Voldemort.”

“Not just anyone,” Voldemort breathed, his magic rising suddenly. “ _Me._ ”

And he attacked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly have no clue where this is going - as always. I've been guilted into this update by my own promises. It wasn't up by December, but. Close enough. 
> 
> This story has no definitive update schedule and I frankly have little motivation to continue it. I have plot lines I find far more interesting in the works, and they are a lot less stressful to write. Still, thanks to everyone for the kind words, kudos, and bookmarks. I appreciate ever comment, and when I see somebody has tagged my story in their favorites it's like Christmas has come early.

**Author's Note:**

> I never claimed to be a good person. (Okay, well maybe once.) I’m probably gunna continue this at one point. Eventually. (Glances at 100+ plot bunnies in Google Drive.) Maybe.


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